Knight Terrors
by PrincessAnnMacbeth
Summary: In a simplistic world of Witchcraft a chosen hero recovers his past life. Their world is changed forever when he reveals that there is no black and white, only shades of gray and the morals we choose to follow. Good guys still ware black. crossover
1. An Introduction to Mr Potter

Disclaimer: I do not own HP or any other, only the plot and crossover-y goodness!

**Knight Terrors**

_Courage is not the absence of fear, rather the realization of something more important than fear. - **Princess Dairies**_

Harry Potter, from birth to present day and no doubt on to his future death lived with fear. That is not to say that he lived his life _in_ fear, for he has done many things others would not. The strongest emotion he had ever known to feel and the emotion he felt the most often aside anger was fear, hence a life with fear not in fear.

Everything started and ended with fear for him. He was raised in a house without love and in its place was hate and fear. He was told it was his fate to kill a man that everyone feared. They said he should fear him as well and almost never speak his name. He soon realized that if things went on this way for much longer he would die.

And he, while not afraid of the action of dying himself, worried over the repercussions his death would have on the living.

_A man without fear is a man without hope. - **DareDevil** _

Harry saw himself as a fool. The thought was not self-proclaimed to the world but thought of none the less. Harry when very little, always dreamed of having some special long lost relative burst through the Dursley's doors and announce his freedom of the people who hated him with such passion.

For many years he never lost hope, but soon realized that no one was coming. The world was full of selfish hateful people. When he turned eleven the forced cynicism did not leave, neither did the hope that someone was waiting for him. He had been such a conflicted child. So, he had gone to Hogwarts in search of people who wanted him.

When in a particularly downtrodden state he would question his fear of death. Why was it that every time he came close to succumbing to death in one form or another he would always hang on? What was he protecting by staying alive? Who was he protecting? What did the darkest corners of his mind know that he did not?

Yes, he had _friends_ in a way. He knew people that did not deserve to die. He asked himself why he did not simply go through life without fear and concern for others. He would always end up blaming it on his hero complex. No one was there to save him so naturally he should always be there for others, right?

He knew he was a fool to still hope that even with his fate that there was a purpose to his existence. All he knew was that it sure as hell wasn't love that had protected him. It was far more likely a combination of fear and anger.

If he had to die, then he would kick as much ass as he could before the final blow. So, Harry Potter could not be the fearless symbol of light, but he could be brave. It came to him in his times of need like a knee jerk reaction. Bravery seemed to be more of a reaction of his fear, a symptom. As far as he knew, there was no cure.

As long as the fear tore at him from the inside, he would face the dangers ahead. There was only one thing more constant than his fear...the dreams.

The kind of dreams that would have any normal kid scarred for life had started to dance in his head a full month after he turned eight years old. He had no idea why that age or particular night in August had set off a never ending dark tale that played itself out almost nightly ever since.

They were not like the dreams Tom often saw fit to send him. They were dreams of a world wrought with crime and injustice. A world where there is not always a straight answer or a definite _good_ side or _bad_ side. It was a place ware the good guy died more often than not in the end. A world of fear and shadows was locked away inside his head.

These little journeys of torment were more commonly known as nightmares or _Night Terrors_. These flashes of another world, a _darker_ world other than that of Private Drive gave insight to him at a young age. He realized how sheltered he and his _family_ truly were.

It was his saving grace and nightly curse that allowed him to be the mild-mannered boy that went to Hogwarts. It is what led him to judge people by their actions. It is what also made him weary of trust. To give trust was to give the other person power over you. To lose hope would be to loose himself. While they maybe harmful to him, Harry couldn't help but feel grateful for the lessons his dreams brought him.

Too bad they were never _just_ dreams when it came to Harry James Potter.

* * *

It was the summer before sixth year and things were going to be different. He could feel it. Every year Voldemort attacked him at the end of the school year as if to say "have a nice summer, Harry!" That would be different this time around. Dear Tom had been too busy to give him a steady flow of "nightmares" as others seemed to have titled them, a sure sign of weakness.

Sure, some if not most of what Tom sent him was disturbing, but a far cry from what stopped him from being bitter in the middle of the night. It seemed that his _dreams_, his _real_ nightmares were getting _worse_. It had to mean something important. Such an obvious shift in subconscious was unusual, even for him.

And lastly, his favorite fact: ding dong the Umbitch is dead. He would never have to put up with the mean spirited toad again. This was immensely gratifying, considering he thought that he caught the disturbed amphibian undressing him with her eyes during detentions. He had practically flown to his sessions with Snape after that.

Yes, Voldemort was on the low and childhood trauma was on the rise this summer. He would have to keep his eyes open.


	2. School Daze

Disclaimer: I do not own HP or any other, only the plot and crossover-y goodness!

**Knight Terrors**

Dear God in Heaven he was pissed.

Did people honestly expect him to jump for joy when he was told? They were all so stupid, even Hermione. All they saw was a student teacher rivalry and nothing more. The man hated him! No one in there right mind would put the two of them together in a room. _Alone_.

Then again, Dumbledore _was_ rumored to not be in his right mind. But just because you're crazy doesn't make you stupid. Fate and Dumbledore were screwing him; Snape just didn't give a damn. Or maybe he did and that was the problem.

He cared fully enough to mind rape the "savoir" of his world just because he was the son of a man who took his pride away in school. To continue his lessons with the man who had practically thrown his ass out of the potions classroom and almost into a stone wall had to be the dumbest idea anyone could ever have. It was not a wonder as to why Slytherins thought he had a death wish.

What was the point in learning from a bias teacher? That was the thing, there was none. He had nothing to gain from being a student of Snape's. Not in his potions class and not in this magical mind reader crap of an art. But, it was not fair to damn the art on Snape's account.

Lately he had been building up visual shields in his mind. Clearing his thoughts may be a good way to relax but not to defend one's self. So he looked to his dreams. He had a mental outline of the city he saw most often in his nightmares, tucking away precious jewels of personal memories in the most unlikely of places. For some unknown reason Snape could not pick up on them in his head.

It was as if they were not there at all.

What sucked even more than Snape was that in addition to dear old Tom taking nightly romps through his head, the real nightmares were getting beyond disturbing. The usual violence or even crudeness of the former dreams had dissipated. What was left in its wake was far more troubling.

He was no longer a bystander in the dreams of that dark city. In the Tom induced dreams he knew he was someone or thing other than himself. He could often feel the other personality trying to consume him. None of the nightmares had that feeling anymore. Every move, every step, every word was his own, all bundled up in a life he never had.

The things he did in those dreams were enough to make him shiver in something other than fear. If Harry had to describe this energy he would have to say it was a combination of peace and thrilled anticipation. And that was what scared him the most. After all, you weren't meant to enjoy nightmares.

Even if the wind on your face made you feel free and alive as you flew across rooftops. Nor should he feel love for such a dark and decrepit city that was beautiful simply because it was _his_ city.

* * *

It was a cloudy morning when his day took a turn from bad to shit. It was of course a Monday. Bad things always started on Monday and carried on into the week. That was just the way of the world.

The young scion of light had been trapped in a particularly intense dream that had made him late for breakfast, causing him to force an egg sandwich down his throat before class. Transfiguration had taken long and boring to a new level. Something about his dream the night before had left him unable to focus.

This led to his rock becoming a bright red robin instead of the fluffy white rabbit they were meant to make. A failed assignment and some odd looks later had Harry entering History of Magic with the lofty goal of not falling asleep. Pulling out a common muggle pen given to him by Hermione he let his hand mindlessly draw.

With the aid of a wadded up peice of paper connecting with the back of his head he woke from his meditative daze with an elaborate doodle covering the entirety of his parchment. At the center of intricate swirls and foreign words was the sketch of a bat rising out of the shadows. Harry could not help but admire it. Something about the picture seemed so familiar. His good mood was ruined however, by Defense Against the Dark Arts.

What a surprise.

Snape for some unfounded reason thought today should be spent on reviewing how to deal with a boggart. Considering his current dreams of late, Harry was understandably worried at to what would pop out. No one had been prepared for what they saw.


End file.
